Month: July 2014

“I talk of blackness not because I despise non-blackness. I speak of Africanness not because I detest non-Africanness. I speak of it because for the past 500 years blackness and Africanness were demonised. And so a few of us are trying to buy back the lost 500 years one status at a time. Shifting mindsets one status at a time.” – me

The ANC did not produce Malema. He is a product of a country that took reconciliation too cheaply, a country that did not take advantage of forgiveness, a country that was too slow to respond to inequality created by the past regimes. If anyone deserves the EFF it is our nation after 20years of democracy.

The EFF is a cry of a tired generation. A generation that is sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Yet, there is another kind of breed that must arise out of this situation. A generation whose mission is to build and not to destroy.
A generation who wear red colours not of the colour of blood but the colour of love. A generation that is not afraid to tackle the most difficult questions of our day because their trust is in the Lord. A unified rainbow generation that is noble and dignified and free. A generation that is not ashamed to call the Lord, their God.
Who will stand up in this hour?
Who will say Lord send me?

She was a UCT final year film student with sharp detective abilities. In the film industry a UCT film graduate was seen as someone who shouldn’t’ve bothered to study.

I realised her detective abilities when she managed to dig out a few lines I had written, printed and filed away. It was hidden away in my work file. She found herself scratching through my files. What exactly was she looking for?

She would not have known but there she was and within seconds she was holding the piece of paper and freaking out in an English speaking Bishops Court girl accent.
“O my gosh Siki! O my gosh!”
I said: “What’s the matter?”
She reads the words on the white page as though they had been written by a forgotten sage from Europe or Asia in the 1400s and somehow, somehow they’d landed on her hand. “This is the most brilliant thing I have ever read. This insane.”
She was breathless.
How was I to break the news without devastating her? How do I deflate the situation and inform her that the 25year old, black me was the sage.
Do I tell her? Well, I had to explain why I wasn’t freaking out like she was. I had to. Tell her.
“I am sorry but I wrote that.”
Dramatic pause.
We are both standing in a empty office and I am not sure if she officially hates me now.

All of a sudden she responds even more. “Oh my God, Siki. Get away from me! Get away from me.”